Date: Thu, 29 Sep 2005 17:18:05 +0100
From: Kitti Ivan
Subject: Kimberly: Chapter 4
~ Chapter Four ~
The Bust
"Listen to those poets as they cry themselves to sleep
Those musicians with their guitars
Who play until their fingers bleed
The writers who tell us all of stories new and old
But there won't be anything left for us
When everything has been sold
You wear your heart on your sleeve
And give to those who ask
Scarlet threads and crimson beads
On a slaves abandoned carcass . . ."
* * *
I opened my eyes.
A stream of sunlight leaked through the window at the far end of the
room, bathing everything in an energising flood of terracotta, making the
flat seem somewhat less daunting and dingy.
For a matter of moments, as I laid there on the sofa staring at the
ceiling, I couldn't at all recollect where I was. A tide of panic swept in,
threatening to drown me and I bolted up. The soft melody of a guitar and a
male voice didn't register as I stared wildly around at the sketchy decor,
my fingers running desperately through the fine strands of my fringe, at
least not until my gaze fell upon the figure in the corner.
The ruffled pink hair.
The short, black fingernails which were plucking at the guitar strings.
The tattered jeans and cropped white t-shirt.
Mew.
Relief spread though me and I laid back down, the mellow chords of
Mew's guitar floating to my ears.
"You pass away the time again
When there's nobody else to blame
And I know that you would help me
If you and I were just the same
But I'm just another sad poet in the rain . . ."
The song seemed familiar, but I couldn't recall exactly where from and
as I listened, eyes closed, the words appeared to sink into me. They floated
through the air and soaked into my skin the way that a sponge soaks up
water, only the water in this story was tears . . .
They ran into my bloodstream.
I chewed my bottom lip.
There was something about the song which made me uneasy. Something
about the way that Mew's voice dipped and wavered over the guitar. Something
that made me feel like I was missing something. Something huge. The big
picture was there but I couldn't see it clearly. It was blurred and
distorted, like somebody had sobbed over it and smudged the ink.
There was more to the song than chords and lyrics.
A whole lot more . . .
I bolted up again at the sound of somebody entering the flat. Blinking
the sunlight out of my eyes, I was somewhat surprised to see that it was
Meth. Her cherry hair was tousled and knotted about her pale face and she
glanced around the room, dark eyes falling across the cluttered coffee table
and empty armchairs. Then, frowning, she went into the kitchen. "Jack?" Her
voice was lined with fright and I too frowned, wondering what the hell could
be the matter.
"Jack?" I heard her heavy boots as she walked across the kitchen and
opened another door and then after a few moments, closed it again.
When she re-entered the living room she had a strange expression of
dread paddling its way across her face - an expression which looked so out
of place it was remarkable. "Mew." Her black outlined eyes fell upon the
pink haired boy in the corner.
Mew had stopped playing his guitar when she arrived and was now gazing
on at her with a puzzled look. "Wha' is it?" he asked, he too, sounded a
slight bit scared.
"Where's Jack?"
"In bed." was Mew's short reply and then he added, "Meth what's
'appened?"
But Mew's question went unheard as the girl went over to the bedroom door
and nudged it ajar. I watched, from my place on the sofa, as she hesitated
momentarily and then said. "Jack! Jack wake up!" There was an audiable
shuffle and a muffled voice which followed:
"Uggh . . . Wha'?"
"Jack there's been some trouble." she told him, "Star's been busted."
At those words there was a clatter from the bedroom and Mew stood up from
his corner, guitar in one hand. "Meth-" Mew began, but Jack's words drowned
him out.
"Shit! Wha' 'appened?"
I frowned. I wasn't used to living in the midst of drug dealers and
addicts and the "lingo", as they say, was rather tough to pick up on.
"I don't know. I was at Tar's an' Paul came over. He said that Star's
'ad the cops on 'im for a while now, but 'e never knew it, not 'til earlier
that mornin' when he was sellin' to Dean an' the police busted in.
"They found a grands worth of cocaine an' two grands worth of herion.
They took the lot an' then 'andcuffed Star an' Dean and shoved 'em into the
back of the car.
"I don't know anythin' else, but what I do know, Jack, is that Star's
not too good at keepin' 'is mouth shut." She paused here, then after a time
went on again, "You were the one that sold him that shit, Jack an' if I know
Star the way that I know the rest of you, he wont think twice 'bout droppin'
ya in it."
There was another moment of silence and in this time I went over what I
had heard and began trying to piece it together and make sense of it all. So
somebody that Jack had sold to had been caught by the police? A funny
feeling of apprehension clung to the bottom of my stomach and I felt
asthough I wanted to vomit.
"Wha' time were this?" Jack asked, he was leaving the bedroom now,
still buckling his belt and with a black t-shirt thrown over one of his bare
shoulders.
"Err, 'bout an hour ago."
Jack nodded, pulling on his t-shirt with incredible speed and then
glancing at his wristwatch. It was Mew who spoke next.
"We'll take it to Robert's. Then if Star does talk an' the cops do come
an' do a search, they wont find anythin'."
"Right." Jack nodded again and ran his long fingers through the short
lengths of his hair. I watched on in befuddlement as Mew and Meth darted
into the kitchen. Then Jack gestured at me, "You can come wi' me, kid." He
turned to the kitchen, "I'll go warn Shade. I'm takin' Kimberly wi' me. You
two get this stuff over to Robert's as fast as ya can. I'll meet ya there at
one."
There was a shout of "All right" from Mew and with that, Jack led me
out of the front door.
* * *
It felt odd running along beside Jack that morning. I hadn't washed, combed
my hair or even been to the toilet, but as we ran on through the disheveled
streets, I felt alive.
It was a peculiar feeling. The sort of feeling that you get whilst
playing the striker in a huge football match, or the drums in a band that's
playing in front of loads of people. That feeling of rushed adrenaline
combined with the slightest note of nerves and it took me some time before I
managed to push the sensation aside and turn to Jack.
"Jack." I panted as my feet pounded against the sun warmed gravel.
"Who, who's Star?"
It was a question that I'd been dying to ask for a while and for a few
moments I thought that Jack wasn't going to answer me. Then he arched an
eyebrow and replied, "Adrio Wyatt. A customer a mine. 'E buys off of me an'
then sells it on for an 'igher price. 'E's also the sort that ya can't
trust. 'E's got a tattoo of a star on his left 'and, that's 'ow 'e got 'is
name."
As Jack spoke I realised that he didn't pant like I did. In fact he
didn't seem to be tiring at all. Jack ran like no one I'd ever met before.
He just seemed to be able to dash on forever and never get tired and I came
to the conclusion that it was most likely to be because he'd had to do a lot
of running throughout his life. I, on the other hand, had never had to do
very much and was almost close to colapsing right there in the middle of the
street. I was finding it increasingly difficult to keep up with him and as
he turned right down a narrow alley way, I could feel myself dropping
steadily behind.
"Where are we going?" I asked, calling him now, from quite a distance.
Jack threw a quick glance over his shoulder, "To my dealer. If Star talks
too much 'e could be in for it too."
If there was one major thing that struck me within those two first days
of living with Jack, it was that everyone around him and that associated
with him, looked after one another with the exceptions of one or two. Even
Meth, who seemed unable to stand the sight of Jack and Mew loading
themselves up with drugs, still stood by them when they were in danger -
even when the danger was brought on by the drugs themselves. And I guess
that's one of the reasons why I respected them so much.
Jack came to a stop. There were tall brick walls on either side of the alley
and as I approached, I realised that he had stopped in front of a door. It
reminded me of the sort of abandoned door that you pass on your way to the
music shop and wonder what's behind it. It was black and the paint was
peeling here and there revealing the splintered wood beneath.
Jack took the time to light a cigarette before knocking on the door.
"Shade, it's me. I've got summat to tell ya."
There was an audiable clatter of keys and then the door opened. A guy
the same height as Jack appeared from the darkness. He was gangly looking
with deathly skin that seemed to hang over his bones like spoiled rags. His
nose had clearly been broken a few times and was bent in several places. His
dark brown hair was bedraggled and stuck out in every which way, some of it
falling into his seemingly empty eye sockets. "Come in." he said, gesturing
with one somewhat bony fingered hand into the darkness behind him.
Jack instantly went in, but I hesitated. I wasn't prepared to say it,
but I was rather scared of the dark and had been since I was six. But this
was no time to go all scaredy cat and after a pause, I followed.
All of a sudden I was engulfed in pitch blackness, that velvety
blackness that seems to cling to you and strangle you into silence and I
panicked. Waving my arms around in the search for a wall that I could press
up against and make myself feel less vunerable, I stumbled onwards, my heart
pounding against my ribs and half expecting Dicky Dark to jump out at any
minute and chop off my beloved manhood.
I couldn't see anything, I couldn't hear anything, I couldn't feel
anything and I went onwards, arms flailing out until: "Fuck!"
I staggered forward and in the same instant found myself laid out on
the cold stone floor.
It wasn't me who had sworn. It was Jack. I'd walked into him, only I
hadn't walked into him, I'd ran.
"Jeez Kimberly." he muttered and as I rubbed my head and peered on into
the shadows I saw a dark figure pick themselves up from the ground. I'd not
only run into him and gone flying myself, but I'd knocked him to the floor
too.
"Sorry . . ." I apologised, pulling myself up.
"S'all right." Jack told me and then to my surprise, his hand gripped
mine. "C'mon."
It was a hallway that we were going down. I realised that when the guy with
the hollow eyes opened another door at the end, letting a flood of light
filter through and illuminate the place. And all of a sudden I felt
incredibly foolish.
The fellow that I dare to describe as having hollow eyes and a crooked
nose, and who (if he ever finds himself actually reading this between
selling and importing and counting his cash) I'm pretty damn sure wont be
too happy about my characterisation, I soon came to learn, was Shade -
Jack's almighty dealer and the most respected man in the business.
* * *
There was an odd feeling that swept through me when Jack grabbed my hand in
order to lead me forwards. I'm not sure whether it was a result of the
shock, or the fear of the darkness, or the reassurance that I was all right,
or simply just the oddity of having my hand held by another male. But when
Jack let go I'm quite ashamed to say that there was a feeling of loss that
crept up in my veins, something that made me frown and scold myself.
I was acting strangely and I hardly recognised myself any longer. In
the past I'd have punched any guy that tried to hold my hand, whether or not
he was trying to help me and in the past I'd have never actually sat and
watched two guys groping at one another even if some one had paid me to.
Don't get me wrong, I didn't have anything against homosexuals or anything,
but the thought of it, two men, made me feel sick.
And now here I was feeling slightly sulky because Jack Rydon, the local
whore and dealer, wasn't holding my hand any more . . .
And it terrified me.
* * *
The room beyond the hallway with the concrete floor, was a kitchen, or at
least, made to look like a kitchen. There was a sink and work surfaces like
all kitchens, with cupboards and cooking appliances scattered about and in
the middle there was a dining table and four chairs. But the dining table
was covered in little plastic bags, see through ones just like the one that
Jack had gotten the day before. They were seperated into three piles. One
pile held white powder in the bags, another held brown powder and the one in
the middle was no stranger to my eyes. Blocks of brown resin.
As I've already said, a few of my friends back in Wikemsburg used to
think that they were cool because they smoked dope and so I'd have had to
have been very stupid, or very blind, not to have known that that was what
was in those bags.
Three other guys were placed around the kitchen, each weighing out a
seperate drug and I stood there in the doorway, blinking on at the sight and
wondering whether it was all just a little figment of my imagination as the
familiar aroma of heated cannabis floated about me.
"Sit down." Jack told me and I startled slightly, suddenly surprised to see
that he and Shade had already taken their places around the drug filled
table.
I did as I was told and perched onto a chair beside him, my wide eyes
tumbling over the mountains of bags.
"So what was it that ya wanted to tell me?" Shade asked. I grimaced
slightly at his voice and shrank back into my chair. It was the sort of
voice that made your skin crawl, a slithery gaspy voice edged with the
hoarse notes of a fellow who would cut off your head if you looked at him
funny.
"Star got busted this mornin'." Jack told him quickly, "I dunno much
'bout it but Meth thinks 'e'll talk. We're 'avin' to move our shit to
Robert's to be on the safe side."
Shade's hollow eyes seemed to narrow, "You think that he'll drop my
name in, don't ya." He clasped his hands together under his chin and I half
expected them to sqeauk like a door hinge that needs oiling.
Jack nodded and took a long draw from his cigarette, "I thought ya'd
wanna know. 'E's a bastard. If 'e gets sent down 'e'll wan' everyone else to
go wi' 'im." He told him.
"Not me . . ." Shade replied, grinning slightly, "He wouldn't live long
enough . . ." His eyes seemed to glimmer menacingly and I shuddered. Then
his attention fell onto me and I tried to press myself further into the back
of the wooden dining chair to escape his gaze. "Who's this?" he asked,
turning back to Jack.
Jack smirked. "Kimberly, a friend a mine. 'E's stayin' at the flat wi'
us for a while."
"Oh, I see." Shade reached out a hand, "Shade Singleton" I hesitated,
unsure of whether to take it or not. Finally, not wanting to seem rude, or
to show Jack up, I reached out across a mountain of cocaine and shook his
hand. His skin was rough and leathery and I'm sure I felt his bones creak as
his fingers wrapped around me.
"Kimberly Black" I told him, trying my hardest not to sound revolted.
I was thoroughly glad when his hand left mine and even more glad that I
didn't feel the pang of loss that I had when Jack's had left.
I watched for a moment, waiting to see what Shade's reaction to my name
would be, but surprisingly, he didn't frown, or grin, or muse as everyone
else had done. It seemed not to phase him and from that minute onwards I
respected him. Eventhough his voice scared the shit out of me and the
slightest touch from him sent me cringing into a corner, I respected him
with all my heart.
That's not to say that I didn't respect anyone else in the city. I
respected them all in their own way and for different reasons. Jack because
he had the decency to take me in and make sure I was o.k. Mew because he
wasn't ashamed about his sexuality and Meth because she had the courage to
be herself and hadn't fallen into drugs or alcohol like the rest of them.
But Shade because he hadn't been bothered by my name like everybody else
that I seemed to come across. He instantly took me for who I was and not
what I was named and that, to me, meant more than the world.
"How was the tester, then?" asked Shade, returning his conversation
towards Jack.
Jack brightened. "Excellent!" he told him, "I told Mew 'bout the special
offer an' 'e thinks it's a great idea. So if it's all right wi' you we'll
come down for it when the takin's for the last batch are all in."
Shade smiled warmly and gestured at the bags of cocaine in front of
him, "Well, I've got plenty to go around." He laughed. His laugh was short
and rasping, the sort that made me wonder whether he was actually laughing,
or whether he was gasping for breath.
"Is this . . ." began Jack and I turned to see that he was handling one
of the bags that held the brown powder and peering at it with inquisitive
eyes.
"Herion. Yes." was Shade's blunt reply. "It came in at the same time as
the snuff and I thought I'd get some for good measure - ya know." He laughed
again and in the same moment I saw Jack put the bag back down onto the table
with startling speed asthough afraid that it might bite him.
For the first time since I'd met him, I suddenly noticed a series of
small scars on the inside of Jack's left arm, a series of scars that he was
now running a protective hand over absentmindedly. "But you don't deal in
that stuff, do ya Jack?" Shade asked.
Jack shook his head quickly and glanced at the scars, "No . . ." He
whispered. "Not now . . ."
It didn't take a genius to work out what had happened. Jack Rydon had
once ever so happily dealt in herion and been one of his own best customers
too. A fright with a dirty needle or something of a similiar account had
left the boy terrified and he hadn't touched the stuff ever since. The real
story was likely to come out sooner or later, but for now, my own
assumptions satisfied me.
"Well, thanks for lettin' me know, Jack. I'll keep my eyes open." said
Shade. He rose from the table.
Jack took this as a hint that it was time for me and him to leave and stood
up too. I followed his lead. "S'all right, Shade." Jack told him, "We all
'ave to watch each others backs 'round 'ere."
Shade nodded and lead the two of us back out of the kitchen. I startled
and then froze as the door swung closed behind me, leaving the hall in total
darkness. I startled again as a smooth hand clasped my own for the second
time that morning and drew me along.
"So, I'll see you in a few days then." Shade said as he opened the door for
us.
I squinted in the sunlight that bore through the opening and then had to
stifle a quiet whimper when Jack's hand slipped loose again. "Yeah." He
said, shading his dark eyes and throwing the stub of his cigarette down onto
the concrete.
Shade chuckled and turned to me. "Take care, kid." he told me.
"You too." I answered and followed Jack out into the alley way.
When I turned around, the black door with its peeling paint had been
closed again. Jack was halfway down the alley when I heard the rattle of a
key and paused for a moment, wondering if what I had just experienced was
indeed reality or my mind working over time, before finally heading after
him.
* * *
I fell in step beside Jack easily this time. He had slowed to a considerable
pace and I wandered along beside him like I had the day before when he'd
been taking me to the flat. Only then I saw him as a stranger, this time I
saw him as a friend.
As we walked on, I wanted to ask him why he'd grabbed my hand. It
wasn't the sort of movement that any normal guy would do and it troubled me.
But everytime I tried to open my mouth in order to question him the words
wouldn't form and I simply ended up closing it again and feeling rather
despondent.
The awkwardness of the whole hand-holding ordeal kept the two of silent all
the way through the city to Robert's flat. Not once did either of us try to
make conversation and for a while I began to wonder whether I'd done
something wrong and Jack was giving me the cold shoulder due to it. But as I
went over everything that had happened, I couldn't for the life in me work
out what it could possibly be that I'd messed up on and could think of
nothing else to put his dead silence down to apart from the events in the
dark hallway. But still, it made no sense to me.
I couldn't speak because I wanted to ask him why and the words wouldn't
come. So what was wrong with him speaking, unless, of course, he wanted to
explain himself to me and his own words wouldn't come to him either.
So, confused and miserable, I was glad when we finally arrived at
Robert's and met back up with Meth and Mew.